


i'll do my best

by murphamy



Series: Murphamy Week 2018 [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Murphamy Week, Murphamy Week 2018, Police, Sky Box, cop/delinquent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:52:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphamy/pseuds/murphamy
Summary: He’s trouble, that kid,” the guard next to him mutters. “I don’t know why you bother. Give it another day or two and he’ll be ripping your head off.”Bellamy scrutinises Murphy with narrowed eyes. Murphy’s just… Murphy. A sarcastic brat that Bellamy suspects ended up here, with the dregs of the Ark, for running his mouth a little too much.





	i'll do my best

“Is it shower time yet?” Murphy grumbles.

Bellamy stands silently on the other side of the thick steel door, arms crossed. He leans over and peers through the letterbox sized mesh window. “No,” he says sternly. “Be quiet.”

Murphy’s eyes close and he sighs. “I smell really bad,” he mumbles, as if it would persuade Bellamy to unlock the door and personally escort him to the showers. It doesn’t. Murphy whines when Bellamy ignores him and he rests his forehead on the metal netting. “Come on, man.”

“Yeah, you smell bad,” Bellamy agrees. He looks away, focusing his gaze ahead as his commanding officer walks by. Once past, Bellamy takes a step to the left so his shoulder lines up with Murphy’s peephole. “Thirteen minutes, inmate,” he says. “Then you can shower.”

Murphy blows cool air against Bellamy’s neck and he shivers.

“Can I add up my missed showers and take a nine-minute shower?” Murphy asks and Bellamy can hear the anticipation.

“No. All prisoners are only allowed three minutes of hygiene time daily.” A gust of air brushes Bellamy’s skin and he shudders again. “Stop it.”

Murphy grunts. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m a guard, John. I’m not supposed to be fun.”

“Kim was fun,” Murphy snaps. “I don’t see why they replaced him with you.”

Bellamy tenses. Impulsively he turns around and slams a hand against the door. His wrist throbs with the impact. “Maybe because I’m not a pervert who gets off on watching underage girls in the showers,” he spits. Bellamy’s eyes lock with Murphy’s and the teenager shrinks down from the window. His face constricts with confusion and then he’s looking up at him with something similar to relief. Bellamy apologises for losing his temper.

“It’s fine.” Bellamy almost expects Murphy to crack a mocking smile. “I knew there was something weird about him.”

Bellamy shrugs. “Everyone knew. It was just a matter of catching him. He was floated six days ago, by the way.”

Murphy nods. Bellamy returns to his position as guard. Ten minutes later, he escorts Murphy to the shower cubicles.

-

“Bellamy,” Murphy greets as he grabs a tray from the cafeteria. Bellamy moves from the wall to follow closely behind, creating a barrier between him and other inmates.

“John,” Bellamy replies through gritted teeth. “You should be referring to me as Blake, or even better, Sir.”

Murphy laughs. Bellamy grimaces at the beige goop that’s piled onto a plate and handed to Murphy. “Right,” Murphy says. “If that’s what gets you off. Sir.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. Murphy waits for the sky box chef to ladle a handful of seasoned tofu chunks onto his plate. Bellamy briefly wonders why they waste good nonperishable seasoning on prisoners.

He waits for Murphy to sit down next to Mbege - the other John - at a table on the edge of the cafeteria. They sit alone, no one approaches, and after Bellamy inspects the room for any suspicious activity, he steps away and returns to the wall.

“He’s trouble, that kid,” the guard next to him mutters. Julian, or something. “I don’t know why you bother. Give it another day or two and he’ll be ripping your head off.”

Bellamy scrutinises Murphy with narrowed eyes. He chatters to the other John with smiles and uses a wooden spoon to eat his gloopy food between bouts of laughter. Bellamy has been guarding him for less than ten days, and Murphy has done nothing. No shouting besides the odd humorous quip when Bellamy guards his door. A lot of back talk, but certainly no aggression or misbehaviour that he doesn’t experience from all the other inmates already. Murphy’s just… Murphy. A sarcastic brat that Bellamy suspects ended up here, with the dregs of the Ark, for running his mouth a little too much.

Bellamy wants to know why everyone warns him to be careful. Keep your distance, the commanding officer said on his first day. Do not let him touch you. Do not give him sharp objects. Do not let him even look at your gun.

He frowns.

This kid is guilty of nothing but slanderous behaviour.

-

Bellamy hears the shouting before he sees it.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Murphy screams.

Bellamy rounds the corner of the corridor to find Murphy on top of another inmate, landing punch after punch to the face. There’s blood everywhere, and the boy underneath is whimpering and begging him to stop. Bellamy pushes Mbege out of the way. He grabs Murphy by the bicep and tugs him across the floor. The other kid is Dax, and whilst Bellamy tries to detain a raging Murphy, guards pile in with the doctor and a stretcher.

The other inmates are ushered away, and by the time Bellamy has managed to subdue Murphy, his knee is pressing firmly between his shoulder blades and his fingers grip his hair with such intensity that Bellamy thinks he may have removed a clump of Murphy’s ragged locks.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“He started it,” Murphy all but growls. His face is pressed into the cold floor and it muffles his words.

Bellamy taps the barrel of his gun against the nape of Murphy’s neck in warning. “I don’t give a shit who started it, John. You can’t just beat people to death. That’s sick.”

The fidgeting from Murphy trying to escape halts. “I’m sick,” Murphy whispers.

“Yeah,” Bellamy exhales shakily. “A real piece of work. I thought you were better than this, kid. I really did.”

-

“Hey,” Murphy murmurs from inside his cell.

Bellamy glances at his watch. The cycle is 3:43am.

“Bellamy.” Murphy is louder this time, more determined.

Bellamy ignores him. He keeps his attention on the rows of containment pods.

“Please, Bellamy.”

He laughs. Bellamy steps away from the barrier bars, away from the multiple levels he had been examining, to glare at Murphy. “Is that how Dax sounded, I wonder?”

Murphy kicks the door. Bellamy can tell as the thump comes from below them.

“You’re not letting me explain,” Murphy says. Bellamy has never heard someone sound so desperate. “He was saying shit about my family. Said it was my fault that my parents are dead, but he’s wrong, I didn’t do anything to them!”

Bellamy cocks his head to the side. Murphy looks like a wounded animal he’s seen on a documentary once.

“Do you think I care, John? He nearly died because of you.”

Murphy kicks the door again. “He’s going to die in two years anyway! I was doing him a favour.”

Bellamy shakes his head sadly. “Listen to yourself. Your execution is set too, you know. Should I put you out of your misery now and pop a bullet through your skull?”

Murphy doesn’t speak. His gaze is on the floor. After a while, he looks at Bellamy again, and smiles. His eyes glisten.

“I’d prefer that, yeah.”

Bellamy swallows. A lump gathers in his throat as he walks away, his back to Murphy’s cell as he returns to his duty and watches the dark and empty sky box corridors.

“Bellamy-”

“Be quiet.”

-

“How did you end up like this?” Bellamy asks one day. A shuffling comes from the other side of the door and feet rapidly patter up to it. Murphy lands against the door forcefully.

“What?”

“I said, how did you end up like this?”

Bellamy isn’t looking at Murphy. Can’t.

“In the sky box?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Whatever landed you here probably turned you into… you. So yeah. That.”

Murphy chokes and Bellamy knows the boy is sobbing - doesn’t need to look at him. They both take a minute or two to collect themselves.

“When I was, uh, twelve or so. I got sick. Real sick, like everyone thought I was gonna die. My dad stole some medicine but he got caught and it didn’t help anyway and he was floated for it. My mother drank herself to death. Not before blaming me for murdering my other father though.”

Bellamy turns the words over in his mind. It doesn’t surprise him there are children growing up on the ark in families like Murphy’s, but the realisation still hurts.

“That doesn’t explain how you got arrested,” Bellamy points out.

“I was moved to the orphanage. You know the kids there don’t get normal clothes and medical rations, right? I stole them. I was stupid and the guards caught me.”

“A real robin hood, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

Bellamy finally looks at Murphy. The boy is staring at Bellamy with a tentative smile, mouth and nose against the mesh. He shakes his head at Murphy - who didn’t grow up with the story of Robin Hood.

“Why did you really lash out at Dax?”

“I can’t control it,” Murphy blurts honestly. “I just… snap. I’m sorry.”

“Are you apologising to me?”

“I disappointed you.”

Bellamy nods. “Yeah.”

“I hate that thought the most.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, John,” Bellamy says as the speakers chime and his shifts ends. He leaves as another guard approaches to keep Murphy company.

-

Bellamy only managed to switch to night cycle shifts temporarily. Two weeks after the incident with Murphy and Dax, he’s back on babysitting duty and following Murphy around. He understands now. He understands Murphy is violent and impulsive and can’t control himself; doesn’t know how to. So much for Bellamy assuming he’d be pardoned in six months. Murphy would get floated; he’s a danger to the Ark.

“Hey!” Murphy greets as Bellamy takes a seat at the cafeteria table next to Murphy.

“Hey,” Bellamy replies gruffly. One hand is positioned on the gun and the other atop the plastic table. “Try not to start any trouble, I’m tired.”

Murphy shuffles closer to Bellamy, who places his hand on Murphy’s shoulder to still him.

“Why are you tired? Cute girl keep you up all night?”

“Be quiet.”

“Cute boy?”

“No.”

Murphy hums and Bellamy drops his hand. His sister kept him up all night crying, but of course he can’t tell Murphy that. No one on the Ark has a sister.

A bruised but healing Dax approaches the table. Bellamy’s grip on the gun tightens.

“Get lost, inmate,” Bellamy snaps. Dax holds his tray close to his chest and glares at Murphy.

“You should have finished me off,” Dax mutters. “Watch your back, John.”

Dax retreats, not before Murphy is standing, his palms angrily slamming on the table. “Fuck you!” Bellamy draws his gun and grips Murphy’s wrist.

“John,” he says. “Sit down.”

Murphy reluctantly follows his orders, sitting close to Bellamy. His hand remains around Murphy’s skinny wrist.

“I don’t like when they call me John,” he mumbles.

“I call you John.”

“I don’t mind you.”

“I need you to stop causing trouble,” Bellamy says, sincerely. “You can’t do this anymore, not if you have any shred of hope of getting out of here.”

“I don’t, though. Have any hope of getting out of here.”

Bellamy smiles crookedly. “I’ll put in a good word for you if you stop being a brat.”

Murphy grins for a split second before schooling his expression. “Alright. I’ll do my best.”

Bellamy sheathes his gun. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Murphy turns his attention to his unappealing food and Bellamy notes the blush that spreads up to his ears.

“Thank you,” Murphy mutters, and Bellamy doesn’t know why, but for someone so impulsive and dangerous, he knows Murphy is going to try.


End file.
